


Ship of Ships

by on_the_wing



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Backrubs, Bedtime Stories, Crack, Exhaustion, Fic within a Fic, JUST KISS ALREADY, M/M, go to bed Cain you're drunk, how long is it going to take
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 03:33:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11615016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/on_the_wing/pseuds/on_the_wing
Summary: A mysterious fad sweeps through the Sleipnir, threatening what Encke and Keeler hold most dear.





	1. Chapter 1

Encke flops down on the bunk without even taking off his boots. “This is the third time in the past two weeks,” he announces, “that one of my men tried to seduce me during a disciplinary conference. He even had the nerve to suggest coming by our room later for a threesome! Just to make it clear, these were three _different_ men.”  
  
Keeler spits out his mouthful of mouthwash, then shambles out of the bathroom like a platinum-haired zombie. His voice is still chipper, though. “Oh my gosh! Mine have been acting the same way! They’ve been staring at me and giggling, and leaning really close, and they keep trying to make private appointments for help on _special projects_ that I’ve never heard of before.”  
  
“Oh god, I didn’t realize it was an epidemic.”  
  
“One of them fainted into my arms and claimed he forgot breakfast, but I saw him in the mess that morning eating a huge trayful of oatmeal, eggs, sausage, toast, and orange juice!”  
  
Through a huge effort of will, Encke forces his weary muscles to move enough so that he can fold his arms under his head. “Why would they think we’re so corrupt as to abuse our position of power like that? You don’t think other lead fighters and navigators…”  
  
“Oh, they couldn’t be! They wouldn’t have the time, even if they were that unscrupulous. Or the energy.” Keeler laughs shakily. “I barely manage to undress and brush my teeth once I get back here. I’m practically asleep before I fall into bed.”  
  
“I know, right? It sounds like some kind of ridiculous porn plot.”  
  
Keeler’s delicate brow furrows. “No. _No_.”  
  
“Huh?” Encke yawns, belatedly remembering to cover his mouth.  
  
“They _wouldn’t_.”  
  
“Who wouldn’t what?”  
  
Keeler pulls out his laptop and taps wildly. Encke closes his eyes for just a moment, soothed by the familiar quiet patter of the keys, like rain on a rooftop….  
  
“MOTHERFUCKERS.”  
  
He jumps. “What?!”  
  
“Sons of BITCHES.”  
  
“Keeler, what—”  
  
The lead navigator’s face is buried in his hands, his body is shaking, he’s tipping over into a twitching fetal position on the bed.  
  
Encke leaps up. “Keeler, are you all right—”  
  
Keeler silently points at the laptop, and after a moment Encke realizes he’s laughing. “Look,” he mouths.  
  
Eyebrows nearly up to his hairline, Encke reaches out for the laptop, handling it as if it were a live scorpion. “ _A Knight on the Tiles_ , by NaughtyNavi69. Encke slash Keeler slash Reader—what?”  
  
Keeler makes quiet choking noises.  
  
“Tags. _Tags?_ Threesomes. Braids. Role play. Discipline. Sword fights—what is all this? Keeler stop, you’re going to fall off the bed.”  
  
“Re—” he hacks. “Read it!”  
  
“Is this something I _want_ to read?”  
  
Keeler nods furiously, then stops and looks dubious, then nods furiously again before collapsing into more convulsions.  
  
Encke looks down at the screen again. “If you say so. I’m not going to read it out loud though.”  
  
“Aww…”  
  
His face gets hotter by the second. “My GOD Keeler, what is this?”  
  
Keeler wheezes.  
  
“It’s not even—it’s not even—it doesn’t even make any SENSE! Why would I—why would you even have something like that with you—how would you get it on board without—where would you store it—”  
  
“I haven’t—” his navigator chokes out, chewing on the end of his braid. “I haven’t read the whole thing yet. So I have no idea what you’re talking about!”  
  
“Who would WRITE something like this? This is insubordination—do they have a grudge against you?”  
  
“No, no, it’s—go back to the last page.”  
  
Encke clicks. “Holy shit,” he whispers. “There’s _dozens_ of them.”  
  
Keeler leans over and flutters his hand until Encke hands the laptop over again. “They can’t all be by the same person. No one has that much time. Let’s see—yes, they’re all dated within the last two weeks. I would be surprised if they were all written by navigators, too. Look at the _grammar_ on this one.”  
  
Encke tumbles off his bunk and scoots over to sit on the floor by Keeler’s, and Keeler slides off with a thump to rest next to him, shoving the laptop halfway onto Encke’s thigh. It suddenly becomes very, very important not to turn his head in that direction, toward the warmth and haze of pale hair and— _look at the fucking laptop. Just look at it._ “Maybe it’s a decoy—what the hell! That one’s just me and…Cain?!”  
  
“Yeah, they’re not all about both of us. But most of them have at least one of us, and about…hmm let’s see…” he taps the keys. “…about three quarters of them have both of us.”  
  
“EnckesBit—?” He stops, unable to say the entire ‘author’ name out loud. “Who would call himself something like that?”  
  
Keeler lets out a noise halfway between a giggle and a snort. “Maybe it’s Cain.”  
  
“Oh god.”  
  
“You know, I could probably find out, if you give me some time.”  
  
“Ugh, I don’t want to know.” He thinks. “Although we probably should find out so we can—”  
  
“Look this one has _pictures_ —”  
  
“NO I don’t want holy shit what is that even supposed to—” He squints, unable to look away. “Keeler why, why are you doing this to me? Is it because I made you do an extra hour of flight sims yesterday?”  
  
“It’s for your education, young grasshopper.”  
  
“I don’t know if I want this kind of education. I definitely didn’t sign up for this kind of education. This kind of education definitely wasn’t in the—”  
  
“Too bad, you’re getting it anyway. Look, this one has you and me double-teaming Bazin in a hot tub while Cook and Bering do sportscaster-style commentary.”  
  
“Nooo—”  
  
“They complain about their feet getting wet because the water keeps slopping over the sides of the tub. Nice detail.”  
  
“Wait, a hot tub?” Encke backtracks, momentarily distracted. “Why isn’t there a hot tub onboard? It would be therapeutic, I’m sure.” Suddenly his entire being is consumed with primal longing; he wants to curl up in the gentle embrace of the steaming secondary womb, to boil his weary bones in the cosmic bubbling broth until his painfully separate self falls to pieces and he becomes one with the universe. Or dozes off, that’s good too.  
  
“Ooh, yes.” Keeler almost drools. “Therapeutic. I _wish_ Cook and Bering would put us in a hot tub. I don’t even care if they watch.”  
  
“I know, I don’t care who watches me sleep, just as long as I get to.”  
  
“Maybe they have one in medical?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“You checked?” he laughs.  
  
“No, I just um, know. What’s in medical. Because of fighter stuff. You know, because fighters get injured a lot.” _Nice save,_ he congratulates himself.  
  
“I see.”  
  
Encke hastily clicks around. “Look, there’s a drawing of us wearing flower crowns. And we even have clothes on.”  
  
“Aww, isn’t that sweet!”  
  
“I mean, we _are_ both wearing bridesmaid dresses, but still…”  
  
“Wait, why are we the _bridesmaids_? Why aren’t we the _brides_?” Encke looks at him, and Keeler freezes, a coral flush spreading across his cheeks. “I mean, who put us in a subordinate role? We’re supposed to be the stars here!”  
  
Encke studies the screen. “Someone called ‘tongues_of_fire,’ I guess.”  
  
“So who are the brides? Grooms, whatever?” Keeler tilts his head sideways until it’s almost touching Encke’s shoulder.  
  
He scrolls down and chokes.  
  
“Oh my gosh,” Keeler gushes. “Praxis and Cain?! Cain looks so lovely in white lace, I never would have guessed. Although most bridal gowns are a little longer than that.”  
  
“Much longer than that. At least it’s long in the back.”  
  
“Praxis looks very dignified in his tux.”  
  
Encke squints. “I think he’s got toilet paper stuck to his shoe.”  
  
Keeler gasps. “You’re right! You know, I think this might be my favorite one so far. Let’s see what else he’s done.” He leans over until he’s halfway into Encke’s lap, taking hold of the laptop but not pulling it away.  
  
_Take hold of ME_ , thinks a rebellious part of Encke’s mind. _Let me SLEEP_ , wails another. _Put your arms around me and let’s fall asleep right here_ , a third part pipes up, proud of its own cleverness. _That’s not fraternization. That’s just hugs. Just hugs that help you sleep better. Delicious, delicious sleep. Sleep is good for you. I love sleep_. “Oh my.”  
  
“Oh my is right. They’re not all that innocent, are they—oh! This is really…creative.”  
  
Encke winces. “I’ll say.” He files it away in the guilt drawer of his mind, just in case he’s ever alone in the shower or the bunk or his office and awake enough to do something about it. Well, not that he’s ever _not_ alone in the shower these days…just not alone in the sense that…that…  
  
“Encke wake up, your head is really heavy.”  
  
Encke sucks in air with a jerk. “Aagh! Sorry!”  
  
“My neck hurts now,” Keeler complains. “What is your head made of? Lead? _Osmium_?”  
  
Encke glances at him sideways. He’s rubbing the nape of his neck, but he’s smiling. What the hell. “Here, let me.” He shifts around to dig his fingers gently into the cords at the back of Keeler’s neck.  
  
“Oh! W—wow. Uh—um Encke, you didn’t have to—ohhh…” Keeler’s eyelids flutter and his head lolls. “I didn’t really mean to guilt trip you, I was just teasing.”  
  
“Do you want me to stop?”  
  
“No! Although let me move my hair, it’s pulling a little there—okay. Mmmh. Encke I think you… _ohhh_ …I think you missed your calling, you are _so_ good at this.”  
  
Encke looks down with alarm, fervently glad that Keeler’s eyes are closed. _Why do they make uniform pants so tight? What pervert designed these things? What pervert approved those designs?_ He tries to ignore the spray of long white-gold eyelashes, the gently heaving chest, the parted apricot-crayon lips. As a precociously literate toddler, Encke once bit into an apricot crayon and was disappointed that it didn’t taste like fruit.  
  
He concentrates on Keeler’s neck, Keeler’s surprisingly muscular, hard neck… _okay that isn’t helping much_. He concentrates on loosening the rigid, steely bands of muscle, much smaller than his own but just as tight and unyielding. Keeler might even have more knots; he can hear them clicking. “That’s another thing they should have onboard, massage therapists.”  
  
“Ohhh yeah, mmmh. Left a little? But they would be so overworked, they would need massage therapists of their own. An endlessly recursive…line…thingy…of massage therapists.” Keeler’s head slumps forward again, and he lets out a gentle snore. “Series!” His head jerks up again. “Seriesa massage therapis’s,” he slurs. “Notta, _lidderal_ line.”  
  
“Maybe a literal line would work,” Encke suggests, enunciating carefully. “It would be…efficient. Even more so if they were in a circle.”  
  
Keeler gasps. “Encke! You so smart! Maybe I should get the navis to try that sometime. Do you—do you think you could get the other side a little more? Nearer my shoulder?”  
  
“Maybe if you turned around?” _What am I doing what am I doing_.  
  
“Oh, of course.” Keeler dumps the laptop unceremoniously on the floor and scoots around between Encke’s legs.  
  
Encke can feel the heat of Keeler’s sides between his thighs _oh god oh god oh god_. He arranges himself to maintain a decorous few inches of space between their lower torsos, and digs his fingers into the shapely shoulders in front of him.  
  
Keeler lets out an obscenely luxurious sigh, and his head sags forward.  
  
“Weren’t we…doing something? On the computer?”  
  
“Mmh? Oh yeah.” He scrabbles for the laptop, tossing his braid absentmindedly back over his shoulder. It slithers over Encke’s hand, setting off an electric thrill of danger, and creeps its way back forward again.  
  
Encke absurdly imagines that slippery cornsilk hair loose and falling down in a curtain to brush over his— _that’s ridiculous, that’s not even a thing people do, is it? I guess they could if they wanted to. Those stories are getting to me._ “Why us? I mean, if they wanted to write stories about people they know, why not write them about everyone?”  
  
“Well, if you take this entire body of work, they do write about a lot of people. It’s just that most of them are um, also with us.”  
  
“Hmm.” Click, click.  
  
“Probably—mmh, nice—because we’re public figures. Everyone knows who we are, so there’s a familiar point of reference.”  
  
“Why not the commanders too, then?”  
  
“Lemme do a search…” Keeler taps at the keyboard. “There are a few about them. Not nearly as many, though. Maybe it’s because we’re in the same age range?”  
  
“Well-known, but more accessible?” Encke wants to mention the obvious, that Keeler is the best-looking man on the ship by miles, but he’s afraid it might sound sleazy.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“So you can search by…‘character’?”  
  
Keeler nods.  
  
“Who shows up most often besides us? We might be able to figure out from that who’s writing these.”  
  
“Oh, good idea! But I can just use my admin code to hack in and find out for sure.”  
  
Encke yawns. “What if they’re using each other’s devices? Or logins?”  
  
“Let’s not get too complicated. Yet.” The yawn spreads to Keeler. “One—haaaaugh. Step at a time.”  
  
“Mkay. Do we—” he yawns again. “—have to do it tonight, though?”  
  
“There’s no other good time. I keep getting interrupted everywhere else. Can you get my scapula, the inner edge? It’s killing me.”  
  
“Sure.” Encke positions his elbow and pries, extracting a rippling series of clicks.  
  
“Oh, w-wow.”  
  
“Are you sure this isn’t too distracting?”  
  
“If it is, _I don’t care_.”  
  
Encke smiles. He works his way up and down the offending scapula, and then the other one, settling into a rhythm. The gentle tapping of the keys and Keeler’s occasional approving sighs are soothing, but irregular enough to keep him from tipping off the edge of awareness into sleep. Down the trapezius where it flanks the spine in parallel columns, back up to strum the rhomboid major. After a while, he asks, “Any luck?”  
  
“Well,” Keeler yawns. “Yes and no. I have been able to track down some sources for these usernames, but they’re not—hauuugggggh—multiple accounts for the same person as I was hoping. Unless they’re sharing passwords, or unless someone’s a disturbingly good hacker _and_ an impossibly prolific writer, these uh…works….really do have a lot of different creators. I’m not anywhere near done and I’ve already found twelve of them.”  
  
“Whoaaa.” Encke blinks. His eyes are bone-dry. He realizes that his hands have stilled on Keeler’s shoulders, and quickly begins to knead again. Why is it that actively rubbing is less suggestive than just resting his hands there? He tries to figure it out and gives up. He wonders if any of the stories about the two of them start like this— _no, don’t think about that_. “Who have you found so far?” He trails off into another yawn. “By which I mean, whose ass do I personally have to kick?”  
  
“Well, it’s mostly navis. But um, there are a quite a few by Ca—actually, are you sure you _want_ to know who’s been coming up with elaborate sexual fantasies about you?”  
  
He tries to focus. “Well, no. But how can I discipline them if I don’t know who to discipline?”  
  
Keeler sighs as Encke’s hands move up the back of his neck again. “Mmmmh, that’s—oh. Well, it seems like most of them are at least complicit, right? Even if they didn’t write or draw them, they’ve been reading them, or they’ve at least heard about them and didn’t report it. So this has to be a mass punishment, unless we make examples.”  
  
“Ugh,” growls Encke. “I don’t like that.”  
  
“I know, hon, that’s why you’re an angel and the rest of us don’t deserve you.”  
  
“What?!”  
  
“Don’t mind me, I’m just babbling. Let’s see, what can we do to them…”  
  
“We could make them all run laps till they drop.”  
  
“Mmh, unfortunately I can’t have my boys dropping. They have a lot of work to get done. I’m tempted to have them scrub every inch of their starfighters with their toothbrushes but…same problem. Hoooaaah!” Keeler turns around to gaze up at him. “I’m being so selfish. I’m not using the laptop right now—do you want me to rub your back?”  
  
Encke’s eyes widen. “Oh! Oh, uh. Um. Ah. Okay.” They shuffle awkwardly around. Encke can’t quite muster the audacity to put himself _between Keeler’s legs_ , so he leans his left side against the bunk and tucks his bent legs to the side, forcing Keeler to do the same behind him.  
  
“Aaah, I can’t reach you! You’re too tall and my knees are in the way.”  
  
“Oh, uh, sorry. What should I….”  
  
“Hmm. You could lie down on your stomach?”  
  
“I’m not going to last twenty seconds if I do that. I mean,” he’s glad Keeler can’t see him blushing from this angle, “I’ll fall asleep right away. Your efforts would be wasted.”  
  
“Pfff, if I hear you snoring I’ll just pinch you. In the butt.” He laughs when Encke startles. “Or...or you could read me some of the stories while I do it.”  
  
“Keeler.”  
  
“Come on, it’ll be efficient. Multitasking. It’ll strengthen our bondage. Bond.”  
  
“… _James_ Bond,” mutters Encke reflexively. “Well, you do have a point.” He stretches out on the floor, feeling ~~shaken and stirred~~ unduly exposed in the posterior region, even though he’s wearing a perfectly good pair of trousers which he’s pretty sure aren’t slipping down. _It would be difficult for them to slip down,_ he mulls, _considering how form-fitting they_ —ooooh. “Oh wow.”  
  
“Encke, you are seriously overdue for one of these.” Keeler’s fingers dig into his shoulders. “I don’t know if I’m capable of breaking up these boulders without a hammer.”  
  
“Ooh a hammer, that would be nice. As long as you stayed away from my skull.”  
  
“Oh, I think your skull is thick enough to withstand just about anything.”  
  
“Pffft!” Encke chokes out a laugh, resting his cheek on his hand. “My spine, then.”  
  
“You should get all the fighters to do this too. Make up a schedule, so you get at least three back rubs a day.”  
  
“Are you crazy? With the way they’re acting now?”  
  
“Well, at least you’ll know they want to do it…”  
  
“ _Want to do it_ is right,” he mutters. “That’s the problem—oh!”  
  
“Is that okay?”  
  
“Yeah, it’s great! It just startled me.” _Keeler is a lot stronger than he looks_. A little shiver travels along Encke’s legs; he hopes it wasn’t visible.  
  
“I couldn’t help but notice that you aren’t reading anything yet.”  
  
“Damn. Okay…” he drags his head up off his hand and fumbles for the laptop. “Which one do you want to hear?”  
  
“Pick one.”  
  
Encke can just _hear_ the overly sweet smirk. “I don’t wanna pick one,” he mutters. “ _You_ pick one. It was your idea.”  
  
“Oh no, fighters first.”  
  
“Fighters are ladies? What are you, a drill sergeant?”  
  
“Some of them _are_ actually ladies. You should know that.”  
  
“Well of course, but not here on this ship.”  
  
“Your attempts at—haaaaugh—distraction will not work. Pick something.”  
  
“Fine, I’m just going to close my eyes and scroll, then read whatever’s at the top when I stop.”  
  
“Okay…. _coward_.”  
  
The door chimes, saving him from who knows what unsavory fate. Encke pulls himself to his feet and staggers over to open it. “NO. Go away, Reliant. Ten laps around the fighter’s level, then back to your bunk.”  
  
Cain glances past him at Keeler sprawled on the floor in his underwear, and grins. “Oh, I’ll be in my bunk. _Sir_.”  
  
“TWENTY LAPS. NOW. I’ll be watching on the monitors.”  
  
“Yes _sir_.” He salutes in what Encke considers to be an overly enthusiastic manner, and jogs off.  
  
Encke fervently wishes it were possible to slam the door. “You think it’s funny _now_ ,” he complains. “But do you really want Cain leering at you in the corridors?”  
  
Keeler looks up at him. “Do you really have access to the monitors?”  
  
“No,” he yawns. “Not unless I get a temporary password from Command. But he doesn’t know that.” He crumples slowly to the floor and settles onto his belly, looking back hopefully at Keeler.  
  
“Start reading first,” the lead navigator says sternly.  
  
“Yes, _sir_ ,” he imitates Cain’s tone.  
  
Keeler promptly smacks him on the ass, and he yelps in shock.  
  
“I’m gonna _get_ you for that,” Encke promises.  
  
Keeler mutters something that sounds suspiciously like _I hope so_ , and points to the laptop again.  
  
Encke sighs and pulls it over. He doesn’t even bother to close his eyes, he just scrolls down a little and lands on one. “Encke and Keeler’s Excellent Adventure,” he begins. “Tags: Encke slash Keeler, Encke slash Keeler slash Napolean ‘Boner Part,’ Encke slash Keeler slash Billy the Kid, Encke slash Keeler slash—”  
  
“Never mind the tags,” Keeler interrupts. “I don’t want spoilers.” His hands curl around Encke’s shoulders and squeeze. Encke lets out a quiet huff of relief, and begins to read.  
  
***  
  
5437 words later—Encke deeply regrets not checking the word count before he started—he can hardly force his eyes to stay half-open, and Keeler’s hands on his back are barely moving. They still feel warm and enticing, though.  
  
“What if…” Keeler muses. “What if we left comments on all those stories. Really sassy ones. Saying things like, ‘Oh, nice try but that’s not how we do it, we do it like this.' It would scare the crap out of them.”  
  
“Whas not how we do what?” He blinks furiously.  
  
“Oh, you know. Like if the story says you top, we say actually I top. And I wear lingerie made from the skin of misbehaving fighters and use the blood of virgins for lube.”  
  
“That doesn’t sound very practical,” Encke yawns, too exhausted to be shocked.  
  
“It doesn’t have to be practical, it juss hasta—just. Has. To. Just has to be scary.”  
  
Encke gives up on the dwindling backrub and curls up on his side. “You can be really scary when you want to.”  
  
“Why, thank you!”  
  
“Now my back is cold….”  
  
“Oh no, we can’t have that.” Keeler hesitates for a moment, then climbs over him. Encke makes a startled sleepy noise, and he whispers, “I’m just going to warm up your back.”  
  
“Oh, ‘kay.” A warm body settles down behind him, pressing close, and an arm drapes itself over his ribs. He sighs happily, ignoring the tiny indignant voice inside. It’s not even saying anything coherent. “You could—we could—”  
  
“What?” Did Keeler just freeze? No, he’s still warm. _Hahahaha._  
  
“We could say. In the comments. That we do terrible things to people who have threesomes with us. Like all that blood of virgins stuff.”  
  
“Oh! brilliant! We’re cultists who need victims for our blood sacrifices.”  
  
“Yeah. Yeah. But. Will they b’lieve us?”  
  
“I—probably not. But it’s just scary that we’re talking to them.”  
  
“But to make them stop asking for threesomes. Need something more believable.” Encke yawns.  
  
“Ohhhhh, hm. Buggies, maybe?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of buggies.”  
  
“Buggy whats?”  
  
“Encke, you tender child. Please don’t make me explain buggies to you.”  
  
“But I don’t unner _stand._ ”  
  
He feels Keeler’s muscles gathering for a sigh before he hears it. “All right. Buggies are people who—wait, why are you laughing? You knew all along, you liar!”  
  
“Didn’t lie. I _don’t_ understand buggies. I don’t hate them or anything, I just don’t get it.”  
  
“ _Still_ bad,” Keeler breathes into his ear. Encke is suddenly glad yet again that Keeler can’t see…certain regions of his person. Or can he? _Please god no._ “Besides, what if _they’re_ buggies? They’d be delighted.”  
  
“Mmh okay. Whaddabout…what about…oh no, I can’t think of anything. Anything they’d believe. That none of them would like.”  
  
Keeler yawns and shifts a little closer. “People like so many strange things.”  
  
“Mmhm. Like stinky cheese.”  
  
“Hey! Epoisses is the pinnacle of dairy perfection.”  
  
Encke chuckles. “If you say so.”  
  
“Y’r so bad.”  
  
He can feel warm breath on his ear and neck. _How did we get here_ , he thinks suddenly. _I have to—I have to…_ Inspiration strikes. “Hey. What if. What if we’re going about this all wrong.”  
  
“Mmh?”  
  
“Even if we figured something out that would scare them, we’d still hafta do it on every story. Or lots of stories. And the first comment we made, they’d see it and maybe shut the whole thing down. No time to do the rest.”  
  
“Oh. That’s…if they saw it though.”  
  
“But they do this so much, someone’ll be sure to see it soon.”  
  
“Hmm, you’re right.”  
  
Encke takes a deep breath. “What if we wrote a story too?”  
  
“Encke! That’s not going to—”  
  
“A story where we find their stories and punish them for it.”  
  
Keeler gasps. “Encke, you’re a _genius_.” The arm around him tightens, and suddenly he feels soft lips on his cheek. “That would take much less time than a million comments.”  
  
Encke smiles. “Can we do it tomorrow though? I don’t think I can stay awake any longer.”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
“The bunks are so far away,” he complains. “I donwanna move.”  
  
“Me neither.” Keeler tucks his face into the hollow of Encke’s neck.  
  
“We’re gonna ache _so much_ tomorrow.”  
  
“I don’t care.”  
  
“Me neither.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Busted** by _GetBackToWork_  
  
**Tags** : Encke/Keeler, Encke, Keeler, everybody, punishment, extreme discipline, cower ye sinners  
  
**Length** : 455 words

* * *

  
  
“Oh my,” said Lead Navigator Keeler as he and Lead Fighter Encke scrolled through the naughty stories and pictures. “Look at all this insubordination. I do believe that warrants severe punishment.”  
  
“Not the _good_ kind of punishment,” added Lead Fighter Encke. “Punishment that is no fun.”  
  
“Punishment for all our men, because they’ve all been very bad. Every single one is complicit, even if they didn’t write these stories. How should we punish them?”  
  
Lead Fighter Encke considered. “First, they can run 100 laps around the ship before breakfast.”  
  
“Then they can miss breakfast. And we won’t catch them if they faint. We’ll just let them fall on the floor and hit their heads.”  
  
“Yes, and we’ll just laugh and let the maintenance people draw scurrilous pictures on their faces while they’re out cold.”  
  
Lead Navigator Keeler pondered. “What else shall we do? I know! Once they wake up— _if_ they wake up—we’ll make them scrub all the toilets with their toothbrushes.”  
  
“Excellent idea! Shall we make them brush their teeth afterwards?”  
  
“Yes! Perfect. And after that, we’ll keelhaul them one by one, without giving them spacesuits or oxygen.”  
  
“I will pretend I have not heard of keelhauling, just so I can listen to you describe it. Lead Navigator Keeler, what is keelhauling?”  
  
“Keelhauling was an ancient form of punishment for sailors on Earth. They would tie the sailor to a rope, loop the rope around the underside of the ship, and use the rope to drag the sailor under the keel until he came back around the other side.”  
  
“Oh dear. Was the rope looped around the ship from side to side, or from front to back?”  
  
“Both methods were used.”  
  
“Lead Navigator Keeler, what injuries would a man suffer when keelhauled?”  
  
“Traditional Earth sailing ships were encrusted with sharp barnacles, which would tear a man’s hide to ribbons. Some men lost limbs or even their heads! Even if the keelhauling was done slowly and carefully, the water was freezing cold and the man could drown. Of course, there is no water outside the Sleipnir, but space is just as unbreathable and even more bitterly cold.”  
  
“Gosh, Lead Navigator Keeler, that sounds quite extreme. I approve. We’ll start with the author of ‘Butt Boys of Baten Kaitos,’ because that contains the worst offenses against the English language.”  
  
“Can I bathe in their sinful blood afterward? My pores have been feeling clogged lately.”  
  
“Of course Keeler darling, although I’m hurt that you didn’t invite me to join you.”  
  
“Oh my dearest Encke, the invitation is always open.”  
  
_~smooch smooch censored smoochety smooch~_  
  
The End

* * *

 

131 views, 119 likes, 31 comments, 2 podfics, inspired 5 fanworks

**Author's Note:**

> I love the fanon versions of Encke & Keeler’s relationship, but seeing them portrayed as this suave morally-ambiguous swinger couple instead of the repressed, earnest dorks they are in canon never fails to crack me up.
> 
> “Buggies” are people who dress up and roleplay as Colterons or similar aliens during sex. Sometimes both people do it, but more often one will dress as a Colteron and one will stay “human.” They typically don’t identify as Colterons, but some of them will create a Colteron persona to roleplay.
> 
> Do I even need to tell you who "EnckesBitch" and "tongues_of_fire" are? :P
> 
> This story was a semi-conscious parody of that anti idea I’ve seen floating around, the one where people read fanfic about someone, magically lose all scruples and self-control, and immediately go out and sexually harass them. Mostly though, it’s the fic I worked on whenever I was really sleepy, so I could identify properly.


End file.
